Month: March 2018

Sometimes a guest post comes along that draws you in and takes you by surprise. The post that I’m sharing below did that. I wasn’t really sure what to expect as I didn’t know what author Joel Hames was going to be writing about, but I absolutely love the story that he told. Read it, you won’t regret it. I think that this story could be a book in itself.

Guest Post:

Lancashire, and half a world away

Hello @ifonlyread, thank you for hosting me, and hello everyone else, thank you for reading.

What I’m about to share is a true story, and the inspiration for the main sub plot in my latest novel, Dead North. I’ve changed the name of the principal person involved, and altered the locations and the dates, slightly, so as to afford some privacy to those affected. But the heart of it is completely and utterly true.

It was the back end of the millennium. 18 months to go until planes started falling from the sky and the world burned, or so they’d have had us believe. And I was in Patagonia, kicking myself, because if there was one place you’d want to be when the world did burn, it would, as Bruce Chatwin had recognised decades earlier, be Patagonia, and I was 18 months early.

I’d been hiking through South America for six months, prior to starting a career as a lawyer. My wife-to-be had joined me in Argentina, and we’d bussed and hitched our way down through the country, eating steak and learning to tango in Buenos Aires, revelling at the beauty of the Argentine Lake District, watching whales and penguins and elephant seals in Puerto Madryn, until we hit the huge, majestic wilderness of Patagonia.

We’d loaded up for a long hike. Dried food, tiny gas cooker, handy little tent, a lighter that could start a fire in the face of the most relentless Patagonian wind. Less than two hours into that hike, with the wind biting at our faces through alpaca-fleece hats, a van pulled up on the track beside us and asked whether we wanted a lift.

“It’s OK,” we said, eyeing the driver suspiciously. Contrary to everything we’d been told, Argentina had been a wonderfully friendly and safe place for us, so far, but we were on a deserted stretch of road, probably tens of miles from the nearest human being, and it paid to be cautious.

“Are you sure?” His English was good, accented but clear. He looked to be in his early thirties, maybe, tall and lean, ruggedly handsome, as most of the Patagonian men, to my chagrin, seemed to be. “You look like you’re in for a long walk. But with me, you can go much further. And you can enjoy it more, too.”

We laughed and thanked him. “It’s OK,” we said. “We like being outside, not in the van.”

“Not in the van,” he replied, clearly affronted by the suggestion. “We drive to my place. There, we take the horses.”

Our eyes lit up.

Over the next week our unexpected angel, Max, gave us everything he’d said he would and more. On horseback, we trebled the journey we’d been planning by foot, and although our knees might have been sore after eight hours in the saddle, our backs certainly thanked us, with the horses taking the load. We lit fires and feasted on milanesa, on steak and cartons of local red wine, on fish caught in remote icy rivers while we looked on and drank more of that wine. We saw more of Patagonia than we’d believed possible. We retired each night to our own tent while Max insisted on sleeping under the stars. Every morning we strolled down to the nearest river or mountain tarn and took a quick, refreshing dip. We laughed more than we’d laughed in years. And we enjoyed the company of Max, one of the kindest, most open, most charming men I had met in my life.

Me and my wife-to-be crossing a river on our steeds, Hercules and Sorpresa

When it was all over we disappeared, down to Tierra del Fuego, where we sat on trains with all the other tourists and admired the landscape and the old colonial vestiges, and missed Max, and on our way back up again we dropped in on him, pitched our tent in his field, and stayed with him for our last few days in Argentina, riding, chatting, drinking wine, drinking maté, the strange, bitter tea the Argentines consume by the gallon through metal straws, feasting, meeting Max’s friends and loving every minute of it. On our last night we sat in the field while he cooked up a giant asado, a barbecue of beef and lamb and sausages, and played with his German Shepherd, who’d accompanied us on our trek and had an unerring ability to find the nearest lake or river. The dog was also called Max – that was the dog’s real name, but I’m not going to change either of their names for this, because whenever I see the word, or hear it, or type it, I’m back there in that field, lying back on the grass laughing about something stupid with strangers-turned-friends as Max-the-owner scratched Max-the-dog behind his ear.

Max-the-dog, and my feet

And then we went home.

We dropped Max an email when we’d been back a few days. Everyone used Hotmail back then. Even in Patagonia, there were internet cafes, but not in the remote hill-country Max called home. We didn’t expect a reply any time soon, and we didn’t get one.

A few weeks went by. We dropped him another email. Still no reply. I dialled the number we had for him, and it rang and rang until it went silent. No voicemail or answerphone for Max.

A final try, a couple of months after that. By now we were settling into our new lives, gainfully employed, enjoying the fruits of London and our monthly pay checks and although we missed Argentina and Max, we had other things to think about. No answer to the phone call. No reply to the email. We moved on.

I didn’t spare Max much thought for another eighteen years.

When I sat down to write Dead North, I found two of the characters needed a back story. Most characters do. But I was drawn, by these two, to Argentina, to the Lake District, itself a gentler, kinder version of the Patagonian wilderness below. And for everything to come together, I needed Max. I thought it was time to try to get in touch with him again.

Of course, by 2016, we had Google, and finding out about Max was much easier than it had been back in 1998. And what I found was this:

Four weeks after we’d left him, Max had gone missing.

He’d not been seen since.

The police had done what they could, but the area was so vast that searching it properly was impossible. His horses were all present and accounted for. His girlfriend – a stewardess for a local airline, they’d not been together long – had a good alibi, as did everyone else who knew him well enough to be considered a suspect. Not that there was anything to suspect anyone of, really. Max had no enemies, as far as I knew – and the eighteen-year-old police statements to the local newspapers I painstakingly translated from Spanish into English said much the same thing. There was no sign of forced entry to his home. Nothing was missing.

There was something he’d mentioned, once, idly, that didn’t feature in any of the police statements, but he’d kept his distance, he said; it was nothing to do with him. The fact was, he lived in border country. The Andes he rode through split Argentina from Chile, and given the scale of the area and the difficulty of monitoring it, this was profitable territory for smugglers. People brought things over one way and brought other things back home. Max had been asked to help them, in the past. He’d declined.

This was, I was certain, entirely irrelevant. And after all these years, there was little hope that Max could be alive.

But there was nothing to stop me from reviving him.

I hope this doesn’t seem strange or distasteful to you. In both the novel and this account, I’ve changed names and locations. In the short time I knew him, Max was a good friend to me. I can hear him even now, turning a slab of meat on the parilla and laughing at something my wife-to-be had said, turning to her, saying, as he said so often, “that’s another history, eh?”, and knocking back a cup of cheap local wine.

His role in Dead North is small. But brief as it was, Max’s presence in my life looms surprisingly large.

Blurb:

Once the brightest star in the legal firmament, Sam Williams has hit rock bottom, with barely a client to his name and a short-term cash problem that’s looking longer by the minute. So when he’s summoned to Manchester to help a friend crack a case involving the murder of two unarmed police officers and a suspect who won’t say a word, he jumps at the chance to resurrect his career.

In Manchester he’ll struggle against resentful locals, an enigmatic defence lawyer who thinks he’s stepping on her toes, beatings, corrupt cops and people who’ll do anything to protect their secrets. On its streets, he’ll see people die. But it’s in the hills and valleys further north that Sam will face the biggest challenge of all: learning who he really is and facing down the ghosts of his past.

He’s working someone else’s case and he’s in way over his head. But sometimes you need the wrong man in the right place.

About The Author:

Joel Hames lives in rural Lancashire, England, with his wife and two daughters, where he works hard at looking serious and pretending to be a proper novelist.
After a varied career in London which involved City law firms, a picture frame warehouse, an investment bank and a number of market stalls (he has been known to cry out “Belgian chocolates going cheap over ‘ere” in his sleep), Joel relocated from the Big Smoke to be his own boss. As a result, he now writes what he wants, when he wants to (which by coincidence is when the rest of the family choose to let him).
Joel’s first novel, Bankers Town, was published in 2014, and The Art of Staying Dead followed in 2015. The novellas Brexecution (written and published in the space of ten days following the UK’s Brexit referendum, with half of the profits going to charity) and Victims were published in 2016 and 2017 respectively.

Joel’s website can be found at http://www.joelhamesauthor.com, where you can find out more about the writer and the books, and sign up to his email newsletter. If you want to know what Joel has planned for the future, what he thinks right now, or just stalk him a little, you can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/joelhamesauthor or Twitter at @joel_hames. Joel has never seen the word “Joel” appear as frequently as it does right here, and wholeheartedly approves.

Woohoo!!! I’m so excited to be part of the cover reveal for the new book by the fabulous Louise Jensen, The Date will be released in June but you can pre-order it now. I love Louise Jensen’s books so I can’t wait to read this one.

The Date: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist

Her Saturday night started normally. Recently separated from her husband, Ali has been persuaded by her friends to go on a date with a new man. She is ready, she is nervous, she is excited. She is about to take a step into her new future.

By Sunday morning, Ali’s life is unrecognisable. She wakes, and she knows that something is wrong. She is home, she is alone, she is hurt and she has no memory of what happened to her.

Worse still, when she looks in the mirror, Ali doesn’t recognise the face staring back at her. She can’t recognise her friends and family. And she can’t recognise the person who is trying to destroy her…

From the no. 1 bestselling author of The Sister, The Gift and The Surrogate, The Date is a gripping page-turner that will keep you awake until the early hours. Perfect for fans of The Girl on the Train and Before I Go To Sleep.

About the author:

Louise is a USA Today Bestselling Author, and lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, children, madcap dog and a rather naughty cat.

Louise’s first two novels, The Sister and The Gift, were both International No.1 Bestsellers, and have been sold for translation to sixteen countries. The Sister was nominated for The Goodreads Awards Debut of 2016. Louise’s third psychological thriller, The Surrogate, is out now.

Louise loves to hear from readers and writers and can be found at www.louisejensen.co.uk, where she regularly blogs flash fiction.

Today it is my stop on the blog tour for Hold My Hand by M.J. Ford. I really want to read this book, just the cover alone appeals, but I haven’t managed to fit it into my exploding to be read pile just yet. But I’m delighted to share an extract from the book to hopefully whet your appetite and wanting more.

Extract:

William ran towards her and Jo put down the box and braced herself as the six-year-old leapt in the air. She caught him, but almost lost her footing.

‘You weigh a tonne!’ she gasped.

‘Hi Auntie Jo,’ he said.

Amelia wafted through the crowds, a glass in hand ready to give to Jo. ‘Hello darling,’ she said. ‘Thanks for making the trip.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ said Jo. Amelia was hard not to like.

Paul was looking good.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ Jo said.

‘He’s doing a triathlon in September,’ said Amelia. ‘He’ll be tapping you for sponsorship, so watch out.’

‘I’m broke!’ she said, managing a smile.

‘I’ve given up cheese,’ said Paul morosely. Then he pointed with his glass to the box. ‘Is that for me?’

‘I hope you like it,’ said Jo.

Whether it was the booze or not, his face lit up when his eyes landed on the homburg, and he paraded the hat in front of his guests.

‘You look like something out of le Carré!’ said Amelia, laughing. William tried it on as well, to much amusement.

‘Thanks sis!’ said Paul, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘Actually, we could have done with you here a week ago. Car got broken into – they nicked my iPad. And my bloody squash racket of all things. Police didn’t even come out and take prints!’

Jo could tell a few people were listening, so just said jovially, ‘Sorry, bro – not my patch!’

She could have told them that the police force were suffering the deepest cuts since their inception, that manned stations were being phased out in all but the biggest towns, and that the few demoralised officers who did remain really couldn’t give a shit about someone stupid enough to leave their iPad on display in their vehicle.

Blurb:

HOLD MY HAND, M. J. Ford

How long do you hunt for the missing?

A horrible vanishing act…

When a young Josie Masters sees a boy wearing a red football shirt, Dylan Jones, being taken by a clown at a carnival, she tries to alert the crowds. But it’s too late. Dylan has disappeared…

Thirty years later, Josie is working as a police officer in Bath. The remains of the body of a child have been found – complete with tatters of a torn red football shirt. Is it the boy she saw vanish in the clutches of the clown? Or is it someone else altogether?

And then another child disappears…

About The Author:

M. J. Ford lives with his wife and family on the edge of the Peak District in the north of England. He has worked as an editor and writer of children’s fiction for many years. Hold My Hand is his first novel for adults.

My Review:

I enjoyed The Choice by Jake Cross, it’s a fast-paced read with lots happening, but in order to enjoy this book I think that you really need to just go with the book and not think about how realistic something is (or isn’t).

If you were driving along a road when it is dark and there are no houses or other cars around and suddenly in front of your car was a woman, you slam on the brakes and she begs you to help her, would you help? That’s what Karl is faced with at the start of this book, it is clear that the woman is terrified and so he decides to help her. But it soon becomes clear that people are after the woman and Karl knows that they have seen his van. The woman, Liz, insists that Karl is at risk, that the men she is running from will find him but he dismisses it. She also refuses to go to the police, something that Karl goes along with.

It soon becomes clear that Karl and his pregnant wife are in danger and Karl teams up with Liz to try and survive. This is when things get a little bit far-fetched, but if you ignore that then you’ll enjoy the ride!

Thank you to Bookouture for a copy of The Choice by Jake Cross, I was under no obligation to review the book and all thoughts are my own.

Blurb:

‘You’ve got to help me,’ she pleads.
On a wet road in the black of night, Karl Seabury is driving home to his pregnant wife. Suddenly, caught in his headlights in the middle of the road is a woman shaking with fright.

The woman says her name is Liz Smith, that her home was attacked, and that she was the only one to escape.

In a split-second decision, Karl decides to help her to safety. But Liz is hiding a dark secret and now his good deed has put his family in terrible danger…

An absolutely unputdownable thriller, with twist after twist after twist, that will leave you breathless. Perfect for fans of Robert Dugoni, John Marrs and Harlan Coben.

About The Author:

Jake has been making stuff up from a real early age. His parents never believed his silly lies when he was young, so he still has no idea why he thought he could invent a decent story as an adult. But he kept trying, and here we are. THE CHOICE is his first novel, the first of three thrillers to be published by Bookouture, and he hopes you like it. If you don’t, he at least hopes you don’t ask for a refund.

My Review:

It isn’t usual that I will read a series out of order, but that is most definitely what I have done with the Cate Austin books. The first one that I read was book four, Nowhere Girl, which I thought was a brilliant book. Keen to read more I then read Humber Boy B which is number three and was even better than Nowhere Girl. And now I have read book one, The Woman Before Me.

I actually don’t think that it has mattered reading them out of sync and I found it quite amusing reading this book and knowing how far Cate as a character develops over the series.

Although this book is the start of the Cate Austin series, Cate herself is very much a minor role in The Woman Before Me, although a very crucial one.

Rose is most definitely the main character and the majority of the book is told by her. She’s a complex character and I was never sure how reliable she was, as we follow her as she hopes for parole. The book goes back to the past when Rose met her partner and the birth of her little boy Joel.

We know that Joel died and we know that Rose is in prison for the murder of another little boy called Luke, and as the story evolves the truth about what really happened becomes clear. I have to admit that I worked it out quite early on but I still really enjoyed it and a few times I decided that I had got it wrong.

Dugdall is a great storyteller and I love her characters, she has a real way of making them feel real. I love how her characters deal with what life throws at them, there’s no dramatics in her writing and as a result the characters are more believable.

I’ve really enjoyed the Cate Austin series and think that they get better and better. I now need to read number two to complete the set!

Thank you to Legend Press for a copy of The Woman Before Me by Ruth Dugdall, I was under no obligation to review the book and all thoughts are my own.

Blurb:

‘An absolute tour de force that left me thinking for days.’ Alex Marwood

They came for me, just like I knew they would. Luke had been dead for just three days.

Rose Wilks’ life is shattered when her newborn baby Joel is admitted to intensive care. Emma Hatcher has all that Rose lacks. Beauty. A loving husband. A healthy son. Until tragedy strikes and Rose is the only suspect.

Now, having spent nearly five years behind bars, Rose is just weeks away from freedom. Her probation officer Cate must decide whether Rose is remorseful for Luke’s death, or whether she remains a threat to society. As Cate is drawn in, she begins to doubt her own judgement.

Where is the line between love and obsession, can justice be served and, if so… by what means?

New Edition includes exclusive material and author Q&A.

About The Author:

Ruth Dugdall was born in 1971. She holds a BA honours degree in English Literature (Warwick University) and an MA in Social Work (University of East Anglia). She qualified as a probation officer in 1996 and has worked in prison with offenders guilty of serious crimes, including stalking, rape and murder. This has informed her crime writing. Since she started writing, Ruth has won awards in several writing competitions, and has had short stories published in the Winchester Writers’ Conference and the Eva Wiggins Award anthologies.

The Woman Before Me by Ruth Dugdall is out now and available from Amazon UK and Amazon US.

Today it’s my stop on the blog tour for End Game by Matt Johnson, published by Orenda Books. Matt has written an incredibly powerful account of losing his friend, WPC Yvonne Fletcher. End Game is the final part of the Robert Finlay trilogy.

Losing a friend

17th April sees the 36th anniversary of one of the worst days I have ever experienced. It is a day when a friend and colleague was shot and killed. Three decades later, despite the identity of the killer being known, he remains a free man.

On 17th April 1984 I was a 27 year old advanced car driver working in central London on a police traffic car. WPC Yvonne Fletcher was a 25 year old officer on the Vice Squad at West End Central Police Station. My wife of the time served on this same squad. Yvonne was one of her best mates and part of our circle of friends.

Yvonne had been at a house-warming party at my home a few weeks before this fateful day. My lasting memory of her is of seeing her sitting at the bottom of the stairs in my house, looking relaxed and chatting with friends.

At 10.18 am Yvonne was with a small contingent of officers supervising a demonstration outside the Libyan Peoples Bureau in St James Square, London. Her fiancé was among the officers with her. Yvonne had her back to the Bureau.

Without warning, someone in the Libyan bureau fired a Sterling submachine gun into the group of protesters and police officers. Eleven people were hit by bullets, including Yvonne.

Severely injured WPC Yvonne Fletcher being helped by colleagues

An ambulance was quickly sent to the scene and my patrol car was sent to escort the ambulance to the Westminster Hospital.

Anyone who has worked in central London will know just how quickly a major incident can cause the streets to become blocked. Main roads rapidly snarl up and the side streets and rat runs that the taxis and locals use, soon follow. Gridlock is the result.

Getting the ambulance to the hospital proved to be a nightmare. We were forced to drive onto pavements and, on several occasions, we had to get out of the car to get vehicles moved so we could get through. At that time we were aware that the casualty was a police officer, but didn’t know who.

I remember that the ambulance overtook the police car just before we reached the hospital. We had to get out of the car to clear traffic from a junction and the crew seized the opportunity to make progress and get through. When we pulled in behind the ambulance, Yvonne had already been taken into the emergency area. I remember seeing the fantastic efforts and the work that was being put in by the nursing staff to help her. They were fantastic and couldn’t have tried harder.

Yvonne died from her wounds one hour later. She had been shot in the back and abdomen.

After escorting the ambulance, my car was sent to help with the traffic chaos that followed the start of the resulting siege.

I went home that afternoon and switched on the six o’clock news. It was only then that my former wife and I learned that the murdered officer was our friend.

The following day, I was assigned as a driver to the SAS team that had been brought in and stationed at a nearby RAF base. My job was to run the lads around, in short I was a gofer and taxi driver. I made frequent trips to the infamous ‘blue screen’ that was built to block the view into the square and I was present on the night that something amazing happened.

Yvonne’s hat and four other officers’ helmets were left lying in the square during the siege of the embassy. Images of them were shown repeatedly in the British media. They came to represent something quite iconic as a symbol of unarmed police officers who had been attacked so ruthlessly.

What happened was that a PC, acting completely on his own, ran into the square and snatched Yvonne’s hat. There were shouts of ‘get back, get back’ from the firearms officers but the unarmed PC was determined and fast. As he returned to the blue screen, he was bundled away by a senior officer and a firearms officer. I never did find out what happened to the PC but I suspect he got into trouble.

Fact is, what he did was a reckless thing to do. It is quite possible that the hat may have been playing a part in the hostage negotiations that were going on behind the scenes. We will never know. But what I can tell you is how much that PCs actions lifted the spirits of people like me who were sitting watching while the ‘powers that be’ seemed to be doing very little. Grabbing Yvonne’s hat from under the noses of the terrorists stuck two fingers up to them and told them what we thought of them.

To that anonymous PC, I say thanks.

The ‘Peoples Bureau’ was surrounded by armed police for eleven days, in one of the longest police sieges in London’s history. Meanwhile, in Libya, Colonel Gaddafi claimed that the embassy was under attack from British forces, and Libyan soldiers surrounded the British Embassy in Tripoli.

No satisfactory conclusion was reached in the UK, and following the taking of six hostages in Tripoli, the occupiers of the Bureau were allowed to fly out of the UK. The Tripoli hostages were not released for several months, ironically almost on the exact day that the memorial to Yvonne Fletcher was unveiled.

In July 2012 Andrew Gilligan of The Sunday Telegraph received reliable reports that Salah Eddin Khalifa, a pro-Gaddafi student, fired the fatal shot. Unlike a previous suspect named as the killer, Mr Khalifa is known to be alive and may, one day, be arrested. He is currently living in Cairo, a city to which he moved as the Gaddafi regime crumbled.

Yvonne’s death is still the only murder of a British cop on UK soil to remain unsolved.

But, we haven’t forgotten.

Blurb:

Robert Finlay seems to have finally left his SAS past behind him and is settled into his new career as a detective. But when the girlfriend of his former SAS colleague and close friend Kevin Jones is murdered, it’s clear that Finlay’s troubles are far from over. Jones is arrested for the killing, but soon escapes from jail, and Finlay is held responsible for the breakout. Suspended from duty and sure he’s being framed too, our hero teams up with MI5 agent Toni Fellowes to find out who’s behind the conspiracy. Their quest soon reveals a plot that goes to the very heart of the UK’s security services. End Game, the final part in the critically acclaimed Robert Finlay trilogy, sees our hero in an intricately plotted and terrifyingly fast-paced race to uncover the truth and escape those who’d sooner have him dead than be exposed.

About The Author:

Matt Johnson served as a soldier from 1975-78 and Metropolitan Police officer from 1978 -1999.

His debut novel Wicked Game – a crime thriller – was published by Orenda Books in March 2016. The sequel Deadly Game, was published in March 2017, the finale End Game, in March 2018.

In 1999, Matt was discharged from the police with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Whilst undergoing treatment, he was encouraged by his counsellor to write about his career and his experience of murders, shootings and terrorism.

Matt was eventually persuaded to give this a go, and one evening, he sat at his computer and started to weave his notes into a work of fiction that he described as having a tremendously cathartic effect on his own condition. He used his detailed knowledge and recollections to create what has been described by many readers as a fast paced, exciting and authentic tale of modern day policing and terrorism.

I could be argued that Matt Johnson is living proof PTSD is a condition that can be controlled and overcome with the right help and support. He has been described by many fans as an inspiration to fellow sufferers.

Matt is represented by James Wills of Watson Little, Literary Agents and by Kaye Freeman of Andromeda Talent. The former for all literary, audio, tv and film rights; the latter for all public speaking engagements.

My Review:

When I read the blurb for The Hunt For The Dingo by P.J. Nash I knew that I wanted to read it, actually it was just the cover that made that decision for me, how could you not love it?

Having visited Australia and knowing how vast the country is and how the outback would make a great setting for any thriller I was excited to read this book. I also have a bit of a thing about Dingos but of course in this book the Dingo in question isn’t actually an animal but a person.

The Hunt For The Dingo is a really fast paced read, it has short chapters that keep the tension going and although it isn’t a long book at under 200 pages the author keeps the reader wanting more right to the very end.

I just wished that I had been able to get to know some of the characters a little bit more, perhaps if a few more pages had been added to the book with more details about the characters within then this book would have really worked, because although I really enjoyed reading it I felt a little bit disconnected from the characters.

Overall a great read, I look forward to reading more from the author.

Thank you to Bloodhound Books for a copy of The Hunt For The Dingo by P.J. Nash. I was under no obligation to review and all thoughts are my own.

Blurb:

A fast paced serial killer thriller

In the arid expanses of Australia’s red deserts, a killer is preying on British female backpackers. Dubbed ‘The Dingo’ by the media, he stalks his prey then disappears without a trace.

In a bid to catch the man responsible, the local police call on the talents of Melbourne’s finest, ex British cop, Lawrence James and leading criminal psychologist Jesse Sandersen.

Meanwhile, James has unfinished business with Melbourne crime kingpin, Cyrus Bain, a gangster who will do whatever it takes to stay out of jail.

When another young girl disappears, it is a race against time to catch the killer.

Can James bring The Dingo to justice?

Will he escape with his life intact?

In their hunt for the murderer, James and Sandersen unearth some disturbing secrets that many would rather remain buried.

About The Author:

P.J Nash was born in Nuneaton, Warwickshire, the birthplace of George Eliot and Shakespeare, respectively. Not surprisingly he decided he’d like to be a writer too.

After studying history and working in PR for a few years, he was running a second hand bookshop, when wanderlust and destiny in the form of his future wife took him to Prague.

During his time behind the counter in the shop and travelling on trams between English lessons he wrote his first crime novel, The Hunt for the Dingo featuring maverick British expat cop , Lawrence James and and his hunt for a serial killer in Australia. On his return to the UK, he drew on his Bohemian adventures to write his second crime novel featuring Lawrence James and his co-investigator, Dr Jessie Sandersen. He currently lives on a narrowboat with his wife Clare and grumpy cat, Lulu.

In his past life P.J. Nash was a Special Constable for the Warkwickshire police.